Sarah Willis sends us this race report:
I signed up for the Radcliffe 10 mile multi terrain race back in November, thinking it would be a good stepping stone from 10k to half marathon distance races and how wonderful it would be to do my first 10 mile race over more interesting (read challenging) terrain.
3 months, 5 weeks of snow, Christmas and a birthday later, I wasn't feeling ready. Pep talks from Tom and Helen had convinced me that I would be able to get round the course, but as I drove to the race on Sunday morning I was overwhelmed by a sense of dread that couldn't be entirely attributed to the fact I was going to Lancashire.
It's very intimidating showing up to a race without your fellow club members. I stood alone on the start line in my red and white vest, amid a sea of blues, yellows and purples, and felt very sorry for myself. Especially when I a wizened old man of about seventy who barely came up to my shoulder lined up next to me. Even with my short racing career, I know that you should never underestimate the old chap at the start line who looks as though he shouldn't be able to stand upright: they're never the last one round...
The race began and as the rest of the field streaked off I resignedly started plodding along at an easy pace. Surely enough, the wizened old man ran alongside me for the first few miles, putting on little bursts of speed every now and then and clearly hoping I would race him. He was clearly a bit of a local character as all the marshalls called out 'well done Manny' and 'what are you doing beck here, get a move on mate' as we passed.
Just over a mile in there was a short hill and the group of women we were running behind slowed down, Manny and I overtook, still shoulder to shoulder. It was like some kind of low speed chase sequence from an action movie. One in which a septugenarian beats a twenty five year old. At mile two Manny got bored and sped up. I stuck to my 9:25 min/mile pace, terrified of going out too fast.
At around mile 3 there was a stile at which a marshall counted the runners. I was apalled to be told that I was 51st woman. I don't mind being beaten by an old man, but I was damned if I was going to be knocked out of the top 50 by a woman. Besides, it was really boring running that slowly. I picked up the pace a bit, and ran the next two miles at a comfortable steady pace.
Miles 4-5 were quite hilly and, being blessed as I am with the opportunity to train on the Chevin, I took great pleasure in picking off middle aged men who had set out too fast and were blowing up spectacularly on the hills. I had to time passing one of them quite carefully to ensure that I wasn't caught by one of the snot rockets he was rhythmically pumping out. Surely the UKA have rules about snot rocketing in races?
I reached the water station feeling very fresh, had a couple of Jelly Babies and decided I could risk being a little less conservative in the second half of the race. The great wave of fatigue I was fearing hadn't arrived so I decided to pick the pace up a bit more.
I was starting to really enjoy myself: the course was pretty, I was feeling invigourated, my form felt strong, and passing lots of huffing and puffing people was making me realise that I was fitter than I thought. By the time I got to mile seven, I realised that I'd set off much slower than I needed to. I decided to race the last 3 miles.
I have never felt so strong in a race. By my standards I was running fast, but I felt great. Every part of my body seemed to fit seamlessly together. My posture was good, nothing felt like an effort. Marshalls got excited as I passed them - obviously not many of the runners who had come ahead of me had been feeling very fresh at this stage. 'Come on Active' as few shouted out, misreading my vest (at least they didn't opt for 'Come on Virgin'...). Rather unsportingly, one of them even pointed at a man ahead of me and shouted 'Go on chuck, you can take him!'.
Take him I did. There didn't seem to be many women ahead of me, but I was picking off the men like flies. At the 9 mile point, I turned into the lane that led up a fairly steep hill back to the club house and passed a group of about six runners. 'Well done lassie, brilliantly paced' shouted one of them and it was Manny - seventy year old Manny grinning and giving me a thumbs up as I passed him.
Delighted by the thought that I wasn't going to be beaten by a pensioner after all, I sprinted up the lane and into the stadium for the track finish. My passionate love of the Radcliffe 10 mile race was cemented when I was handed a goody bag containing a banana, a bag of crisps, a Milky Bar and an entry form for next year's race. What more could a girl want? Except possibly a pair of mud repellent shoes...
I finished in 1:32:22. As it was my first race over the distance I was guaranteed to PB, but I had set myself the target of the 1:40s so the time felt like a genuine achievement. Especially when I looked at my splits and discovered that in the last 5 miles, I had run 3 at 10k pace or faster and the final, hilly, mile at bang on my 5k pace.
It was the first time I have ever enjoyed a race, rather than merely feeling satisfied in hindsight, and I loved it. More importantly, it's helped me to get over my psychological block about 10 miles and feel confident about running over distances in the double figures. Clearly there's some room for imrpovement on my 5k and 10k times though! Watch this space...
Well done Sarah!
